


To Those Who Wait

by Quickspinner



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10670979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quickspinner/pseuds/Quickspinner
Summary: He never spoke of his feelings, and neither did she. With the Inquisition disbanded, and the Inquisitor headed back home to her clan, Cullen is afraid he’s missed his chance. All he can do is confess his love, and hope she comes back to him.





	To Those Who Wait

He had waited too long to confess his feelings for her, feelings that had grown from admiration to affection to utter infatuation, that had deepened into a feeling he had no word for other than love. Yet duty and fear had held him back, kept the words behind his teeth until they stood at the gate saying their farewells to the last of the Inquisition soldiers drifting out of Skyhold in the wake of the Inquisition’s dissolution. He had looked at her and known that if he did not speak, she too would walk out of those gates, and be lost to him forever.

Though she hadn’t spoken of it to many of them, he’d known, as did Cassandra and Dorian, that she intended her return to her clan to be a temporary measure, that she felt she could not return after all that had happened and resume her place as the Keeper’s heir without causing dissention and upheaval that could fracture the clan.

Even were her position uncontested, she could not be the Keeper her clan wanted with all she now knew of their past, could not continue the rituals the Dalish held sacred when she knew from what they stemmed.  She would go home one last time, she would tell her Keeper the truth, and then…he didn’t know what she planned to do. He had suspected, still suspected, that she had no real plan beyond that.

Free of the templars and the Inquisition both, duty no longer had any hold on him. Only fear remained, and he had been many things in his life, but he had never been a coward, and in that quiet moment as the last of their men disappeared from sight, he had taken her remaining hand in his and kissed it, confessed (not very eloquently) all that he had long felt for her, and asked her to join him in South Reach when her duty to her clan was filled. 

_If you think you could ever come to care for me, come to Ferelden. I’ll wait._

And he was waiting, like a fool, despite her carefully measured response, clearly designed to give him no false hope.

Cullen had done all right for the first six months, focused on reconnecting with his family, trying to find a way to reinvent himself yet again, neither templar nor commander nor, he soon found, farmer.  He did odd jobs for Mia, helped Branson in his fields, kept up his training regimen during the late evenings and early mornings, sleeping only in the deepest part of the night as was his habit. Despite his siblings’ protests he slept in the barn with its great wide doors, or even in the grass of the pasture, where none but the cows would be disturbed by his nightmares. Little by little he confessed his suffering and his sins to his sister, and found some measure of comfort in her continued love and acceptance, though her pity grated and her scoldings irritated.  

Fall passed into winter and he grudgingly moved himself indoors, catching what sleep he could on Mia’s living room floor or staring into the fireplace, and his thoughts were drawn to Kirkwall because that was as close as he could get to Wycome. He wrote to Varric, and he must have been utterly transparent, because the dwarf wrote back, “Sorry, Curly, haven’t seen her lately. My people said she made it to Wycome in the fall, but that’s all I can say.”  Cullen suspected Varric knew more than he was willing to tell, but there was nothing he could do about it from this distance. He’d kept up a regular correspondence with Cassandra, but she was no help either. Eventually Cullen scolded himself into acceptance. He had made the invitation, promised to wait, and it was unfair of him to pursue her before she was ready to come to him. 

He tried to bury himself in the homely winter entertainments, took out his frustration on his training dummy.  To his combined amusement and horror, Branson’s wife began inviting local young ladies to meals, and while most of them were perfectly nice girls, his only real temptation came from a bold blonde who cornered him in the barn and kissed him with surprising skill. His body responded with a flame that surprised him, and for a moment he was kissing her back, helping her hike her legs up around his waist, before his mind caught up with him and he had gasped out a rather confused refusal mixed with apologies.  She’d taken it well enough and he’d been more careful not to get caught alone after that.

Cullen had never been more grateful for spring in his life, but he found his attention wandering frequently from his tasks to the horizon.

One evening he came in from his training to find Mia sitting up with the chessboard and a stubborn expression.  He sighed inwardly and sat down, resigned to one last confession. 

He had expected her to be exasperated, perhaps even angry at him for tying up his heart and his future in such an uncertain way, but Mia said no word of criticism against his actions. Instead she said, “And what will you do if she comes?”

Cullen opened his mouth and then shut it again. Mia raised an eyebrow, and continued. “You haven’t even got a home of your own, Cullen. You’re welcome here, you always will be, you and everyone you call friend, but I don’t think you want to bring your lady to live in my barn.” 

“Well, I thought…” Cullen began, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I mean…” he sighed.  “I just don’t really know what to do, Mia.”

“Well you can’t wait here and do nothing and hope she shows up with an answer for you,” Mia said briskly. “You need a plan for the future. How can you ask any woman to be with you on the terms you now stand? I know you hate working on the farm, you only do it to keep busy.” She softened slightly. “I know you, little brother. You don’t want a job, you want a calling.”

“If you have any idea where I can find one, I’m all ears,” Cullen said grimly, staring at the board. 

“If you want to know what I think,” Mia began, ignoring the eyebrow Cullen raised at her. “You need to stop daydreaming and start thinking. Consider the reasons you wanted to be a templar in the first place and what you really want to accomplish, and then start thinking about how you can actually do that. Then, should your lady come, you at least have something to show her.”  She sighed. “Cullen, I feel like I’m watching your soul die a little every day. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Cullen felt a rush of affection and reached over to squeeze her hand.  “You’re right. I have been idle long enough. I’ll think about it, Mia, I promise. I won’t let you down.”

She squeezed his hand back. “You could never.”

They finished the game in silence. Cullen lost, too busy mulling over Mia’s words to really concentrate. After Mia went to bed Cullen went outside despite the biting chill of an early spring night, and lay on a hillside staring up at the sky, seeing not a single one of the stars scattered above him.

The next day he wrote a letter to Divine Victoria.

Cassandra’s response was gratifyingly quick and supportive. With something to do, to manage, something that he could believe in and work for, his spirit revived, and he stood a little straighter, suddenly aware of what a half-life he had been living. During the day he worked and trained, and at night he planned and wrote letters, but still through it all he was waiting.

Spring was nearing its end and he was working in the field with Branson when the world upended.  He looked up and caught the profile of a rider on the horizon.  He thought little of it at first but at the second glance his head snapped up and he stared at the elaborately curved horns spiraling up from the mount’s head.  

“Maker’s breath,” he murmured, straightening to his full height and shading his eyes with his hand.  His heart began to beat triple time as he caught the flash of sunlight on a white flank.  

“Is that a halla?” Bran asked, coming up beside him to see what had caught Cullen’s attention.  “I thought only the Dalish ride hallas, and I didn’t think to see one alone.  Is there a clan coming through, I wonder?”  

Cullen didn’t answer, transfixed.  Branson looked at him. “Cullen?”

Cullen did nothing but stare. The rider was headed in the general direction of the farm, angling towards the two houses. He strained his eyes, trying to catch details, though he knew it must be her. Then she must have caught sight of them standing there in the field, for the halla changed its approach and came on faster, picking its way daintily through the field so that it disturbed none of the growing things.

Then she was there and it was real, and he was staring up at her on the halla’s back.    
She was thinner, he saw at once, and her hair was a bit longer than he remembered, but her smile was the same, and the warm velvet voice that spoke his name still made his knees weak. “Aneth ara, Cullen.”

“Inqui–ah, Atisha,” he stumbled.  “Welcome.”  

Uncertainty flashed over her face for a moment before it settled into the neutral expression Josephine had trained into her.  “Thank you,” she said, more brusquely, than before, and Cullen realized he had better pull himself together before he offended her further.  He took a step forward and offered his hand, then hastily retracted to pull off and toss aside his dirty work gloves before offering again.  She placed her hand in his and he reached up with his other hand to catch her waist as she slid off the halla’s back.  

“I–ah” he swallowed, not sure what to say.  Atisha’s eyes were anxious as she looked up at him, but she must have read his feelings in his face, for she softened and smiled.

“I’m here,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“So you are,” he managed.

Bran coughed, and Cullen became abruptly aware his brother was trying very hard not to laugh.  He felt the heat rush up his face and ears and cleared his throat.  “Lady Lavellan,” he said, resorting to the familiar formality as much to get his own bearings as to throw Branson off of his. “May I present my brother, Branson Rutherford.” He stepped to Atisha’s side, giving her a clear view of Branson, and vice versa.  Cullen had the satisfaction of seeing Bran flush this time and suppressed his own grin.  

“Andaran atish’an,” Atisha greeted, with a slight bow.  “I’m pleased to meet you, Branson. Cullen’s told me,” she gave a little grin, “many stories.”

“Oh, great,” Bran muttered under his breath.  “Well, I’ve heard about you of course, though I daresay,” he shot a murderous look at Cullen, “He left out a few things.”

“There are some things I couldn’t do justice to if I tried,” Cullen said, more intently than he meant to, and his breath caught as Atisha turned soft eyes to him.  

“Can I stable your–er–” Branson began, and Atisha turned back to him. 

“That won’t be necessary, he isn’t staying,” she told Bran.  She walked over to the animal, who was pawing the ground and looking at the horizon. One-handed, she loosed the straps that kept her pack fastened to the halla’s back and let it fall to the ground.  “Ma serranas, ma fallon,” she said, stroking the nose of the majestic creature.  “You’ve done all I asked and more.  Go in peace.  Dareth shiral.”

The halla tossed its head, and then shoved Atisha in the chest with his nose.  He raised his head and looked around, nostrils flaring as he tested the air.  Then he was off like a white arrow, leaving Cullen and Branson gaping at his speed.

“The herd pushed him out,” Atisha explained.  “It was growing too large, so he travels to find a herd needing new blood.  He consented to bear me on his journey.  It made things much easier for me.  I’m not sure I could have traveled alone otherwise.”

“If you’d sent word, I’d have come to meet you,” Cullen said, taking her hand.  “There was no need for you to come all the way by yourself.”

“Yes, there was,” Atisha sighed, with a shrug, but would not explain.  Cullen chose not to press her, afraid of shattering this fragile thing between them.  Though he put a calm face on it, his heart was racing.  That she had come gave him hope, but he had promised he would make no assumptions, presume nothing, form no expectations.  He had asked only for a chance to win her love, and that was what he had been given.  

There was still every chance that she would choose not to be with him.

They left Branson in the field, Cullen carrying Atisha’s pack, and went to Mia’s house. Mia welcomed Atisha as warmly as Cullen could have wished, and installed her in the spare bedroom that Cullen had never used.

“I had meant to stay at the inn,” Atisha said quietly aside to Cullen. “I didn’t intend to put anyone out.”

“You’re not,” Cullen assured her. “The room was Rosalie’s before she got married, but since she’s gone there’s no one using it now. I–prefer to sleep elsewhere.” He didn’t explain further, knew she would understand. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can speak to Mia,” he added quickly.

“No, this is fine,” she said with a slight smile. “I just–um…” She faltered, and her fingers went to play with the hair around her pointed ears. “I don’t want to make any trouble for you with your family.”

“You won’t,” Cullen told her, taking her hand again. He was finding it hard to stop touching her, making sure she was real, though he certainly didn’t want to pressure her with his presence. She hadn’t pulled away yet. “Mia–I told her, about you. About–my feelings for you.” Maker’s breath, he hadn’t meant to bring that up so soon, but she didn’t look away when he said it, nor pull away her hand. He took heart from that. “You don’t have anything to worry about as far as that.”

Her smile grew, just slightly. “That’s good,” was all she said, but his pulse jumped.

“You must be tired,” he said quickly, before he could do anything foolish. “And I’m filthy. I’ll leave you to rest and…I’ll see you at dinner, then?”

She nodded, and he thought he saw a faint color grow on her cheeks.

“All right then,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Until then, my lady.” He made a hasty exit before he could say anything foolish, and walked straight out of the door of the house until he was standing in the fresh air outside, heart hammering at a rhythm he normally only felt in battle. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered, shaking his head. He did a deep breathing exercise to steady himself, and then after a quick stop at the barn to grab a spare set of clothes, he walked down to the creek to clean up. The cold water did him good, and he walked up the hill again, feeling a little more grounded. She was here, had come a long way to be here, and her manner so far had not been at all repulsive. Hope and anticipation still made his heart pound, but his thoughts were not so scattered. 

“You’re looking well,” Atisha said, accepting the basket of bread he passed her. “You’ve kept yourself busy, I take it.”

“Somewhat,” Cullen said, not quite meeting her eyes. “Mostly I’ve just been helping out here and there and keeping in practice. I wasn’t really sure what to do with myself at first. I haven’t been a civilian in–well, ever, really. It took me a while to find my feet.” He smiled at Mia. “I had help, though, and I think I have a plan that can work now.”

Mia humphed but looked pleased, and Atisha smiled. “I know what you mean,” she said. “It was as strange as I expected it to be, going back to the clan. Just traveling was an adjustment.” She glanced down at her missing arm. “I’m not used to needing help, and I needed quite a bit, at first. One of Varric’s friends offered to travel with me for a while, she was very helpful, if…chatty.” She sighed. “I’m glad I went home, though. Not everyone was happy to see me, but my closest friends and Keeper Deshanna were very kind and helped me get through the worst of it.” 

“I’m glad you had someone to help you through, I was worried for you. I know you bore it well, but it couldn’t have been easy.” 

“What do you intend to do now?” asked Mia.

“To be honest,” Atisha sighed, “I’m not entirely sure. I thought–” she hesitated, glanced at Cullen.  “I thought I might…write a…a book,” she said, blushing as she rearranged the strands of hair around her ears with the tips of her fingers.

“A book, really?” Cullen asked, genuinely surprised.

She reddened further. “Not like Varric’s, you understand, I’m not that kind of storyteller, but…so much of the Dalish culture and history isn’t understood at all by humans, and more importantly, what history the Dalish have is kept almost entirely by the Keepers. When a Keeper dies, whatever knowledge they haven’t managed to pass on to their first is lost. I thought…I was First for many years, I know a great deal of the history our own clan kept, at least. That knowledge should not be lost. As well, I am the only Dalish that knows of all that we saw through the eluvians. The library, the Evanuris, the origin of the veil, the Temple of Mythal…It shouldn’t be lost again. I don’t have a solid plan yet, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about as I was traveling.” She bit her lip, looking away from him as if she expected him to disapprove.

“I think that sounds wonderful,” Cullen said warmly.  Atisha looked at him, weighing his sincerity, he thought, and then smiled.

“Well,” she said airily, “I figure if that doesn’t work out and all else fails, I can convince Iron Bull to take me on with the Chargers.” 

Cullen laughed, but looked at his plate. 

“So, Mia,” Atisha said, turning the conversation, “Please feel free to ask me all the questions that Cullen has failed to answer satisfactorily. I’m happy to embarrass him as much as you like.” Cullen glanced up just in time to see one blue eye wink at him, and he grinned.

“As long as you leave that one story out,” he told her, waving his fork threateningly.

“Oh I’m keeping that one in reserve,” Atisha teased.

“That’s just unfair,” Mia complained, and the conversation went on, mostly between the two women. It amused him slightly to see Mia so engrossed. He hadn’t realized his tales of the Inquisition were so lacking, but clearly there was a great deal Mia wanted to know that he hadn’t been able to tell her. 

“Well,” Mia said, once the dishes were done and the table was clear. “I’ll leave you two to talk, shall I?” And before either Cullen or Atisha could say a word to stop her, she was gone.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.  Cullen rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.  “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Cullen lit the lamps, brought out a sheaf of papers, and spread them out on the table. Atisha listened with curiosity, looking through the documents as Cullen explained his plans for a sanctuary for templars who wanted to break their addiction - rather nervously at first, but gaining confidence as his excitement for the project began to leak into his voice. He showed her the enthusiastic letter of support he had received from Cassandra. He opened the map and showed her the land Divine Victoria had granted him, and laid out the blueprints sent by the dwarven builder Varric had put him in touch with. 

“These are a long way from completion,” he told her, with a touch of apology in his voice. “The land has a keep already but I haven’t yet visited it to see how much repair it will need. All I have to go on are the plans in the archives for now. This is more of a concept than a plan at the moment.” He glanced sidelong at her, but could read nothing of her thoughts. He continued explaining his plans, pointing out difficulties and possible solutions, short term and long term goals he had considered. 

Eventually he ran out of words, and just stood there, waiting. After a long moment, she said, “This is wonderful, Cullen. You’ve got a very good start here. I think this is an excellent use of your skills and a worthy cause.”

Cullen let out the breath he had been holding as quietly as he could. “Thank you.”

“But I must ask,” she asked somberly, “where do you see your apostate elven lover in all of this?  Do you not feel she would be a liability?”

The word ‘lover’ sent a thrill through him that he resolutely ignored. “Never,” he said at once, intent on her face. “Not with what I have seen you do.”

“That was different,” Atisha shook her head, pale hair glowing silver where the lamplight hit it. “Cullen, this is politics. You will need noble support, funding. This is a worthy cause, I want to see it succeed. I care deeply for you, but–” 

She stopped short, and there was a moment of absolute silence as they both registered her words.  “I…did not mean to tell you that way,” she sighed, a blush creeping over her face.  

His breath came quick and his pulse pounded in his ears.  He dared not take his eyes from hers.  “Do you love me, Atisha?” he whispered, searching her face.  She met his gaze steadily.

“I do,” she replied, quiet but firm.  “My heart, I always have. But what life can you have with me? Will it not harm your cause to–”

“Then I will find another cause,” he said urgently, cupping her face in his hand.  “There are many ways to serve, and only one of you.  I nearly lost you, once to Corypheus and once to inaction.  I will not make that mistake again.  I know that whatever I could accomplish without you is nothing to what we can do together.  So if you do not like this plan, we will find another.”  He made to throw the papers in the fire, but Atisha grabbed his wrist with a yelp.

“Fool man, what are you doing? There’s no need for that.”

Cullen dropped the papers to the floor, reversing her grip on his wrist and pulling her into him.  “I love you with all my heart,” he breathed into her hair, sliding his arms around her, pressing her tightly to him.  “I was prepared to wait–I didn’t dare hope–.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing, Cullen,” she whispered, hiding her face in his neck.  “It will only get worse as word spreads about Solas and his plans. I’m not the Inquisitor any longer, I have no rank to protect us. I have nothing, no family, no income–”

“You have protected enough,” Cullen told her.  “You have sacrificed enough. No one has any right to ask more, least of all me. I am not afraid.”  He pressed her a little closer.  “You forget, I have seen you face down a false archdemon, the first darkspawn, and a Qunari invasion. I know there is nothing you can’t do when you put your mind to it. If you love me, if you believe I can do this, that is enough for me. I will make this dream a home for you, and you can write your book or work for Iron Bull or anything you want, as long as you come home to me.”

Atisha sighed, letting her cheek rest on his shoulder.  He felt her body soften, melt into his. He turned his face and pressed his lips to her temple.  She raised her head, tilted her face up to his, and he immediately bent to take her lips, soft and yielding beneath his. She sighed into his mouth and it felt like a surrender and a homecoming all at once.  He felt her hand slide up his arm, over the muscles of his chest and up his neck, fingernails scraping his scalp lightly as she threaded her fingers through his hair.  He kept his pace slow and languid as he moved his lips against hers, sliding one hand up her back to cradle her neck.  He released her mouth and pressed his forehead to hers.  “I love you,” he said.  “Stay with me.  Be my wife, my lover, anything, only stay with me.”  

“Yes,” she said, and he smiled.   

“To which?” he chuckled.

“Any. All of it,” she said, completely seriously.  “I have nothing to offer you but pain and hardship, but if you will have me despite that, then I am yours.” 

The hand on the back of her neck pulled her forward and he sealed his mouth fervently over hers.  “Then marry me,” he mumbled between increasingly hot kisses. 

“Yes,” she gasped breathlessly as his mouth moved to her neck. “Cullen!”

The sound of his own name in that breathless squeak drove him wild. He lifted her blindly, scattering the papers on the table as he set her on it. 

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford!”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cullen swore vehemently against her mouth, and Atisha began to laugh.  Cullen tore himself away from her to face a fuming Mia standing in the doorway.  

“Mia, I–”

“Stop.” Mia held up a hand.  “I don’t care.  Just–whatever you’re going to do, do it far away from my kitchen table, please.”

Cullen looked down stupidly at the table Atisha was sitting on.  “Right.  Right, sorry.  We’ll just–go. Somewhere.”

“Maker preserve me from idiots and younger brothers!” Mia threw up her hands and turned her back on them, stalking out of sight.

Atisha was doubled over in laughter, gasping for air. “I’m sorry,” she giggled.  “It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

Cullen bent and slid his arms under her knees, tossing her up onto his shoulder.  “Laugh it up,” he told her, carrying her out of the house. “You still agreed to marry me.”

“I did,” she giggled.  “Where are we going?”

“Ah–” Cullen blinked. “Um…”

He could practically hear her roll her eyes at him. “Put me down, you ridiculous man,” she ordered. He bent his knees and set her feet on the ground.  When he straightened, Atisha grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him into a dizzying kiss. She pulled him along, unresisting, until they were out of sight of the house and the fields, and then he took her hand and led her to a hollow where he had slept more than once in the summer.  Now it was filled with little white spring flowers, and as he laid her down among them he felt that nothing in the world could have been more perfect.


End file.
